One day I might lose

To the hidden thoughts floating

Deep inside my head

Please do not worry

I will cover the rubble

That you left behind

I fault myself

For falling in love with your lies

Instead of the truth

How could I forget

Being blamed for his abuse

When I spoke of it

He was never mine

To love to hold or to lose

Yet I waste my time

Withered and broken

I long to be the flower

Blossoming with ease

She was
unsinkable,
or so they thought.
Woods fired, engines chugged,
they sailed her West in fair majestic pride
unknowing of a tragic ending, a harrowing recollection.
In a blink of an eye, she collided with a tip of the ice, a thousand lives and more swallowed by angry tides,
cries of mercy resonating, woes fading into the familiar shuttered countenance, one by one.
Debris floating back and forth, a horrifying spectacle of bodies buoyant, breathless,
as salty waters sing a lullaby, consoling souls from a sudden departure.
The Ship of Dreams, The Unsinkable, in all her vainglory
a grand exit on her first and final journey, but not
before a farewell kiss pressed on her lips—
She, in a trance, breath withdrawn,
her limbs weak and weary.
Slowly she plunged
but not before
looking back
one last
time.

Maybe this non dairy rocky road was already laid out for me like some kind of haphazardly tossed together destiny of unfathomable tragedy
Or maybe I was too afraid to look too closely or venture too far from safety
Didn't see the blame had shifted dramatically, mostly to me, but how wrong can one guy possibly be?
And yet still I will admit, there's a possiblity the mentality I harbor is mostly negativity manifesting this reckless trajectory
No way to know for sure cause the final copy sent to the publisher was never run by me
So maybe, just maybe, it's some combination of these three, and everything you don't see but what pushed the first domino is beyond me
Can't jog my memory, the good, the bad and the ugly all lost to ancient history, constantly looked over, over and over to the point of obscurity
There's no money so follow the calamity of the paper back story, it's short and gory
Densely packed and stacked with everything that would make someone uneasy
Only pain and shame, no glory, not even a hole, boxed in and been lonely for 40
My future is solely based on what I've done previously
Most might say, "uh, yeah, obviously" but it can get tricky
With a little creative liberty taken to push the limits of an already worn down psyche
Me, myself and I, a split personality or just a not so holy trinity?

©2024